The Soldier of The Moon
by MorganaAlexander
Summary: "...when you think you have everything and that life has nothing more to give, when you want to stop of running and give the back to the unknown or what the future has in store for you, you need only one step, a single step, and your life will never be the same " "And where is the advice in this?" "Do not stop run"


**_A/N: I am sorry for my bad english, I am speak in spanish (this fanfiction is writting in Spanish) and I put all my efforts to translate the story for you._**

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**I**

**_New York, 1945_**

He did not know where he was.

The darkness absorbed everything, while the world revolves around him in a flurry of silhouettes blurred by the darkness. Her green eyes were wide open, totally unfocused, and her bed sheets stuck to her skin covered with cold, clammy sweat, the product of fear and anxiety of the last few hours.

Darkness, just was that; thick and absolute darkness that had flooded his dreams like the edge of a razor, black and impenetrable as oil. So real, so thick and palpable that made him fear close the eyelids of his eyes.

Just was enough for a death rattle, a forced exhalation of your lungs to clear his head dulled by the pernicious nightmare. Why just the darkness terrified him? Maybe it was the lonely little room, or the half-open closet on the back wall to the narrow bed where the child was lying, could even be the distance to the parent's room, in the final of the corridor. The truth was that Christopher was scared and could not sleep. Was stirred sharply, pulling the blankets that choked him under so much weight, and ran her slender fingers through his matted hair, trying to calm down. After a moment his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the small room, which was lit by the cold glow of the moon, casting its silvery luminescence through the thin curtains of his window.

How a child, his imagination went from side to side by the mist that still enveloped his head, remembering only the prevailing darkness and panic caused by their presence. After all, you never know what might be in the dark, and that reasoning terrified him, so he stayed there, lying on his back staring at the ceiling of his room, with the wet strands of her hair stuck to her face and his body trembling both of the cold reigning like of the fear that still dominated.

This could not be happening now.

This could not be happening to him.

With dull consciousness, the child sat on his bed, shaking. His little ungainly silhouette was cut against the wall by the dim light of the window. Unable to stand it any longer, extended his small arm towards to the bedside table and turned on the light of the lamp. The golden glow that spilled on the sparse furnishings hurt his eyes, which narrowed as he wiped the moisture from the tears that had escaped. He told himself, with a hint of shame, it was the sweat of his own skin.

He looked around and mess up the small room, looking in the farthest corners of the room is any indication of what had induced the nightmare; his toys always lay scattered on the floor, even when his mother ordered him repeatedly to keep it in their rightful place. Also his clothes, were lay on a wooden chair and the sleeves of his shirt and his pants brushed the carpeted floor. The cover of the numerous editions of _'Amazing Stories_', his favorite science fiction magazine, shone with the orange light of the lamp, revealing strange drawings of spaceships and worlds that were beyond imagination. There was nothing else.

The only sound that pierced the stillness of the night was the clock, the breath of his steady breathing and the rhythmic beat of his heart pounding in his chest and wildly inside his ears. He was a child and he was afraid, he cursed himself, but he was afraid, and felt he could never get rid of that pernicious sentiment, which he would plunge into the maelstrom of chaos and panic all if he gave in to sleep, if he turned off the light and closed his eyes, the darkness would dominate everything.

That was not exactly what he thought, or what he was thinking. Christopher was not a coward, and for that he cursed himself, because he had always been braver than most kids his age, exploring into strange places and facing the most terrifying stories invented for the frighten older. It was what he felt within himself, which made him feel the darkness. Others children had been put to mourn and have called loudly to their parents for the simple fact of having awakened in the middle of the night frightened by a nightmare ordinary. Now pervading in he the need to do the same and could do nothing but resign, feeling as his eyes filled with tears again.

He knew it had not been a common nightmare, and therefore he refused to continue sleeping.

He wiped his face with the back of his hand, stifling a sobbed with a forced inhalation from his lungs. His bare feet barely touched the ground as he sat on the edge of his bed. He lowered it without making the slightest noise and wrapped a navy blue sleep robe that reached to his ankles.

Everything in that boy was too big; the loose clothing with he used to dress his body often and lanky, light brown hair falling in wisps over his ears and forehead, emerald green eyes, with that look sharp and penetrating, even his nose, straight as the profile of a Roman soldier, promising to be as crooked as the nose of his father. But perhaps, what most stood out and abounded in the little boy, were his perseverance and courage.

But of course, and he did know, because everything has a limit, and courage is no exception. However, summoned up all the courage he had left in his tiny body and, as a shadow, slipped under the door into the hallway, which was as dark as a wolf's mouth. He hesitated for a moment, but after a minute he went ahead . It would be much safer, he said, stay up all night, and ignoring, with his willpower of any noise terrifying than the old house and the outside wind caused, that to sleep and run the risk of being attacked.

He wondered how he would react his mother, a Scottish redhead with a terrible temper, if he woke her with something like a nightmare. He pictured she hitting in his head with the pillow that she used to sleep and admonishing him for not cope with his fears, that when she as a child she had lived all kinds of horrific nightmares and had never gone to wake her parents at two in the morning. After, she get out of her bed and make for him hot milk with honey, only because his father wanted... to continue sleeping.

The problem now was that, apparently, his parents were not there.

He frowned slightly, pushing the door to the confusion caused of the view the bed of his parents totally ordered and no signs of having been used, then he huddled in the sleep robe and leaned back against the corridor wall. It not happened all the time, his parents usually warned him they were going to leave and don't left him much time alone at home.

He down the ladder, which creaked under his weight, and plunged into the darkness of the rooms on the first floor. The room was so dark that I had no choice but to raise their hands in front of his face to touch the walls and not make the mistake of tripping over the last rung. The wood beneath her feet was cold and the only sound heard in the stillness of the night was that of his breathing and the rhythmic compasses of the hands of the wall clock in the living room.

He felt the cold of the night, and a strange feeling of uneasiness came over him. On the first floor the darkness was more thick, and made him remember vividly his nightmare and the darkness that reigned there. He shuddered to think of the strange things that his eyes could not see and that seven years of continuous horror stories of monsters and ghosts had swarmed in his mind like a plague.

He did not have to do much work to walk the path to the kitchen, he knew it by heart, because it was not the first time he woke up in the middle of the night. When the cold marble tiles replaced the wood of the hallway and his small hands closed around the doorway of the kitchen, he gave his eyes a chance to adjust to the deep darkness that enveloped the place.

When, resigning, he realized that what he was trying to do was in vain, raised his trembling arm toward where he knew is the switch and he turned the light.

A woman of incredible curly blond hair and wearing a strange outfit, looked back at him from her position, sitting on a chair and with her elbows on the kitchen table.

He was still dreaming, that was certain, if he blinked a few times and rubbed his eyes the woman will disappear, because should be as only an illusion.

But definitely an illusion was not as corporeal, and an illusion not watched him at first with surprise to then pass to smile like a long-forgotten old friend.

Something in that smile, that she look him with totally confidence, without a trace of arrogance or cruelty, made him realize she was not going to hurt him.

Her face was somewhat oval, framed by a thick mane of blond curls that glowed in the golden light of the kitchen, her eyes were a soft blue-green, and looked at him with curiosity, as if waiting for a reaction on his part, her right hand laid on her lap and his left hand resting on the table, holding a cup of steaming liquid.

Stunned and still with the aftermath that sleep had left in his body, the boy simply stood in the doorway, scared and trembling, not knowing what to say or to cope with the strange woman...

"Are you okay?" The woman's voice broke the silence of the room was soft and velvety, with a touch rough, but not implied nothing threatening. Christopher did not respond immediately, so absorbed in his thought that took a few seconds to process the words of the woman sitting in front of him.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" His voice purported to be firm, but trembled at the end of the question. The boy waited a host of reactions or responses. If she was a thief would simply threaten or attack in any way, or knock him out, ask him about anything of value ... definitely not expected to see in the eyes of the woman such indescribable tension, in them was a struggle of emotions that the child could not identify; were they joy, loneliness, anxiety, or despair...? and behind it was something darker, more painful and torturous, which broke the mask of serenity from the woman for a few seconds, disappearing behind the more radiant smile that the boy had seen in a long time. Her eyes not transmitted that.

The child was felt somewhat quieter, but the smile did not erase the void left by the expression of the woman in his stomach, or the feeling of rising panic that seized him every time he glanced into a dark corner of the room.

"Is it too early for you, is not it?"

"Ex...cuse me?" He turned his head and frowned, not understanding the words of the woman, who now looked in a way that could only be translated as curious and amusing.

"Oh ...! I am sorry darling, spoilers" the woman raised the porcelain cup clutched in his left hand and took a sip of what looked like coffee. The child, suddenly isolated away from the circle of light, crossed the kitchen to the chair closest to his interlocutor, with a strange mixture of curiosity and fear in his body. At least now he was not alone, he thought.

"I do not understand ..." He shrugged into the robe and looked in more detail at the woman; he could see in her face fine lines under the eyes and the golden glow of the skin contrasted with the shadows of the place. She don't have been more than 45 years old, but his eyes of a bluish green amazing, watching him now above the steaming cup of coffee, far exceeded the age he had calculated. Definitely lack of sleep was affecting him. "W... who are you?"

"Yet you have not told me your name, little boy" The woman broke eye contact with a shake of her head and left the white porcelain cup on the table, then turned to him with a smile much like his mother gave him when he found out doing some mischief or misbehaving. "Do not you know it's rude to ask a person's name without saying yours first?"

"I'm sorry... M... Miss (The woman raised her eyebrows to hear his hesitation) my name is Christopher Williams"

There was a small silence while she retaking her cup of coffee. The boy took to observe the strange device that she wore on her left wrist, seemed made of old leather was strapped, and when the woman let fall again the empty cup, Christopher looked away nervously, and laid his eyes in the face of his interlocutor "Nice to meet you Christopher Pond... I'm River Song."

The boy felt a thrill when the woman used the surname of his mother and not the surname of his father to name him, was tempted to ask him how he had known, but with only see her eyes he realized; although being that he had never seen she hanging around the house ... he had not seen she in their life, this woman knew her parents, and a strange feeling in his chest felt understanding that this woman _knew him_.

"Williams" belatedly corrected with a small voice.

"Pond" the voice of the woman called River sounded like a statement rather than as a challenge, and the smile he gave her told her that she had won.

"My mother's Pond but my dad is ..."

"Pond too."

Christopher frowned, feeling like an idiot, an idiot very sleepy and cranky, fighting with a woman who did not know who is and who treated him with a strange confidence. He looked away of the smiling face of River Song and went to one of the dark corners of the kitchen.

There, something moved.

The child was so startled immensely and when he looked back at River his body trembled and his breathing had become erratic, trying to fill her lungs in order to calm the furious pounding of her heart. He closed his eyes for a few seconds and returned to watch the woman, who in turn looked at him with an expression that the child could not identify; her smile disappeared from his face and his brow was slightly furrowed as she watched him intently.

Before, he had wanted to sit in a chair of the kitchen, under the lamplight until their parents arrived, forcing himself to stay awake. But now all he wanted was not left alone.

"Look, I do not know who you are, is that my parents might be about to arrive, could ... could stay here until they get back ...?"

"Would you like a cup of milk with honey?"

"What?"

River rose from her chair and went to the refrigerator, opened it and took out a bottle of milk and a pot of honey. "Is that why you came, right? want a cup of milk with honey, you had a nightmare and you're scared "He spoke quickly, as if to convince him of that she was saying.

"I am not afraid" Chris said, frowning.

River searcheth him a moment and suddenly felt vulnerable. "You're shaking" said the woman then, and Chris hid his pale hands under the table.

"I am not afraid" But River did not listen. The boy watched her as she crossed the room to the stove and put the milk to boil in a metal pitcher. His movements were fluid and fast. Apparently she knew where to find everything she needed.

The child began to question seriously how the woman had entered to the house and what was her origin, while he peering out the corner of his eye any alteration in the shadows of the place.

He was not afraid, wait, yes, he was very afraid, and not the usual fear that a child of seven years old has for horror stories or imaginary monsters. There was something there, something that produced the nightmares in his head and would not let him sleep. And if his theories were correct, was what they had seen the other children in their homes before being sent to the hospital or to faint in class. Apparently, this night had come to his house and he do not know what to do. He wondered if the woman in front of him would believe if he told he saw something move in the shadows of that room. Sure would say it was just his imagination, and that reasoning made him feel very lonely.

He turned his attention to the dark corner of the room, and realized, with some relief, that he had been watching only his cat's tail, who was lying on his stomach and watched him with huge eyes green. But still did not fail to observe all the dark points of the room.

River sat down in front of him, in the chair that had once occupied and approached him with a glass of warm milk and honey that she had been offered him.

"drink, this will make you feel better"

Chris did not want to drink milk, but as he was very cold wrapped with his hands the crystal glass and absorb heat given off.

They remained silent a few minutes. The child's eyes diverted to any point of the room dark, and River just watched with those blue-green eyes that not let out any details.

"You got something you wanna tell me, Chris?"

He just shook his head and turned his attention to the glass with milk, rose it into his mouth. The fluid leaked down his throat leaving a trail of fire and slowly warming his stomach, while the sweet taste of honey left in his mouth and clung to her palate.

River had stopped asking questions and now she dedicate to observing the dark points of the room, between the stove and refrigerator. Chris was tempted to ask if he saw something there, but immediately felt like an idiot and tried to stay away from any such thought.

Surely the woman will told him that he had a very strong imagination and that he was inventing that, they were things that happened to children when they read many tales of horror and science fiction, which was a product of his nightmare...

He wondered suddenly, as he took a sip of milk, how the woman knew she had a nightmare. The boy quickly left the glass of milk on the table, half empty, and returned his attention to the face of the woman, who turned to look at him, and once again felt that she knew what she was thinking.

"What are you afraid, Chris?"

He opened his mouth, but failed to respond. The silence was almost as palpable as the darkness seemed to close around him. He felt heavy, suddenly more tired, sleepy. He rubbed his eyes with the back of the left hand and turned his attention to River, who patiently waited for his answer.

"Are you afraid of the dark?" The woman is blurred in front of him and suddenly the light was dimmer.

The child was questioned that could harm respond to the woman in front of him and that if she believed was important or not. His mind was dull, and quickly tried to respond with a few sentences that his brain could process.

"There's something in the dark.." It had measured his words and did not care, just wanted to she understood. "Something that strikes children"

"What's that?" River frowned, watching Chris with carefully.

"Only appears at night ... and when the parents are not around" This time he spoke quickly, feeling that the dream was winning him "It makes you feel afraid ... vulnerable."

"Have you seen it?" the woman's curls shone like a gold halo, while her dark features became misty at each blink. He struggle to keep his eyes open.

"Yes..." He increasingly concentrated in his words "In the street ..." The child looked up suddenly, and realized he had been about to fall asleep. "I have fear" Chris's voice sounded desperate, trembling. He was submerged in a stupor he could not control, for more willing as he had.

"Fear not" River reached for the boy's head and gently stroked the messy brown hair. The boy felt a strange familiarity in that action, as when his mother or his father hugged him. He felt safe.

"Do not leave me alone ..." grabbed the woman's wrist, desperate "if I fall asleep ..."

"Shhh ... I will not leave you alone" River's face was a blur of yellow and orange colors. She rose from his chair and took the child in his arms as he leaned dangerously to one side. She knew that the drug would be effective immediately. Quickly climbed the stairs to her room.

The child is still not fall sleeping. He was floating in a sea of sensations, his head resting on the shoulder of River and the body completely weightless.

River lay the child on the bed and covered him with blankets. Then he took out his Alpha Meson and turned to the window facing the street, watching the darkness that reigned outside.

Chris did not realize he was asleep until he woke up an hour or two later, to find River sitting at the foot of his bed in the same position he had seen at first; Her profile was outlined in a blue tone pale in the moonlight and his eyes kept searching something the child could not see. Tired, closed his eyes once more.

When he woke up the next morning with the morning light giving full in his face, the woman was gone.


End file.
